


all his fault

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, can be interpreted as ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16462862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “This is all your fault,” Gwen says, although it comes out more asdis is all your fauld.David gasps, eyes wide and hand to his chest, and the worst part of it is that it is one hundred percent absolutely genuine. Sickening. As if she isn’t sick enough as it is. “Gwen! Do you really think so?”





	all his fault

“This is all your fault,” Gwen says, although it comes out more as  _ dis is all your fauld.  _

David gasps, eyes wide and hand to his chest, and the worst part of it is that it is one hundred percent absolutely genuine. Sickening. As if she isn’t sick enough as it is. “Gwen! Do you really think so?” 

As if it hadn’t even occurred to him, the absolute moron. “Get me more tissues,” she says, tossing the empty tissue box at his head. Testament to her current poor health, the box falls to the floor only halfway to its mark. David dutifully picks it up the way he does with all litter he comes across. “And hmm, lemme think. One week ago _ you’re _ sick, experiencing the exact symptoms  _ I’m  _ suffering from right now, and you cling to me like an overly affectionate leech the entire time. I don’t know, David, do you think there might be a correlation there?” 

“Leech is such negative imagery,” he says, collapsing the tissue box with neat and precise movements without looking at his hands before tossing it into the cardboard recycling box, and going for the desk drawer to get a new, full one. “What about like a koala? Koala’s are cute! Happy!” 

“Koalas are even worse than leeches,” she mutters, snuggling into her covers. She’s covered by three layers, the top two fetched by David, one of them snatched from his own bed. She’s going to have to remember to make him take it back so he doesn’t try and sleep without it tonight, the idiot. “If ever a species deserved to go extinct, it’s them. You’re better than koalas, David. Even if you rubbed your germs all over me.” 

“Aww,” David says, sincerely touched and shiny eyed at her exhausted spiteful little rant about how much she hates animals. “That’s so sweet of you! And you listened to me when I told you about koalas!” 

David, when he’s not trying to mother about a dozen eccentric children who all seem to want to kill either themselves, each other, or just anyone they can get their match and knife holding hands on, is basically a walking nature documentary audio book. He seems to have all of them memorized. It’s decent entertainment for a place with no wifi or cable and only some Bob Ross DVDs and Mr. Campbell directed, filmed, and acted out PSAs. She swears to fuck he had to be high on coke for most of those, that  _ can’t _ actually be his personality. He seems like the kind of guy that’d be high cocaine for most of the nineties… 

“Of course I listen to you,” she wheezes. Her throat is so fucking swollen it feels like breathing through a straw. Made of sandpaper. “You’re the only other person here that can drink legally.” 

“But not by choice!” he chirps. 

“Of  _ course,” _ she sighs, eyes closing. David holds a tissue up to her nose and she blows without even opening them. 

Honestly, he’s  _ such _ a mom. Won’t leave her alone at all… 

It feels like kind of a good thing, though, that he’s just as clingy when she’s sick as when he’s sick. Good to have someone to whine at and to fetch her things before she can even think to ask for them. Isn’t grossed out about how she keeps oozing snot and sweating and coughing and sneezing into the sheets, which must qualify as a biohazard that they’ll have to abandon to the Quartermaster’s mercies by now. Even if he was the one who put her in her sickbed.    
She looks up at him and he won’t focus in her bleary sight at all, but she’s sure that he’s warmly smiling at her, all concerned and comforting and not put off in the slightest by the gross mess she’s been reduced to. 

David doesn’t scrunch up his face at her when she hasn’t showered for a couple of days, couldn’t be bothered to put on makeup that morning, didn’t brush her hair, has a stain on her shirt, burps, lets on that she menstruates, is sick. He doesn’t hate it when she acts human, doesn’t act like it’s something unsightly that she let slip around him by accident, something embarrassing and ugly that he has to act sheepish about seeing. It doesn’t register for him at all. He just helps her. 

That’s so rare for men. For people. 

“I forgive you,” she says, even though her head is throbbing, her nose is clogged, her throat is sore, her skin is hot, and it feels like someone injected heavy metals into her skeleton while she was asleep, weighing her down. Because what else could she do? She’d probably forgive him for  _ murder, _ even if she’d shriek a lot about it first. He’s too much of a… weirdo. In a good way. Special? Unique? Except not in the way those words normally mean, a way to say that someone’s an annoying freak without being rude. Not that he’s not kind of an annoying freak too, but… 

Precious? One of a kind? A true find? To be treasured? God, that is  _ disgustingly _ mushy. 

“Thank you, Gwen,” David says, as sincere as always. Did someone forget to teach this guy about sarcasm when he was growing up? How to be offended and indignant and fake aloof instead of hurt? He’s like a completely exposed animal, all of his weak spots on display, except he just keeps on getting up after he gets hurt, determinedly, stubbornly cheerful. David’s going to die with a smile on his face no matter what, she’s sure. “I’ll make sure not to be such a koala the next time I’m sick, I promise.” 

“No…” she says, her heavy lids falling shut. He’s stroking her hair. How could she possibly keep her eyes open when he’s stroking her hair? “No, you can do it again. S’fine. Co-counselors. Watch each other’s backs. Help each other out.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Now let me sleep, David.” 

“Okay, Gwen. Sweet dreams. Get better soon.” 

She will, and that’ll be all his fault too. 


End file.
